Dirty Jobs, The Winchester Edition
Title: Dirty Jobs, The Winchester Edition
Genre: RPF(?), casefic
Pairing: none
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dirty Jobs
Warnings: None
Rating: R for language and violence
Prompt: #56. The map in the window was old, its colors were faded, and on the edges it said, in curling script, "Here bee Monsteres".
Disclaimer: Fiction, fiction, and more fiction. Since I've included Mike Rowe and his entire camera crew for this Halloween jaunt, an extra heap of fiction.
Summary: Mike Rowe and his crew drop by the picturesque New England town of Derry to film an episode of Dirty Jobs only to find they've become human sacrifices. Then, they're rescued by two psychos armed and ready to rock-n-roll with monsters thought to be the creations of drunken men who had nothing better to do than tell tall tales. And people think reality show industry is scripted.
Author's Note: Written for spn_halloween.
Dear Mike:
Let’s start with the truth: I have never watched an episode of Dirty Jobs. I’m usually in bed by the time your show airs, or I’m too busy with my practice to take the time to appreciate your work. My kids, however, are huge fans of Dirty Jobs and have floated the idea of inviting you over for a special night, one that hasn’t happened in thirty-three years.
If I still have your interest, the task at hand requires few men who don't mind getting dirty and who aren’t afraid of a creaky, allegedly haunted house. Mr. Abernathy’s mansion was built on the outskirts of Derry by his great-grandfather. The town itself was created by the booming lumber industry in the early nineteenth century. Mr. Abernathy’s family fortune was also built by the same thing before expanding to minerals and oil. The family’s wealth increased over the years, but Derry’s declined, especially after the horrific storm in 1985 that tore downtown apart.
We are hardy folks, though, and Derry is slowly rebuilding itself. Mr. Julian C. Abernathy IV, who now lives with his children in San Francisco, has done something astonishing: he has opened his family home to the public for the week of Halloween, giving the town council permission to transform the historic mansion into a haunted one. Even better, the old man is charging prices from the last time he had been so gracious; fifty cents for adults, a quarter for kids under the age of eighteen, and free admission for children under five, with the funds being donated to Derry’s Soup Kitchen.
The town has officially gone mad with the decorating, but the hard part is what comes after. We need volunteers to take down all the fake cobwebs, the papier-mâché ghosts, and whatever else strewn about the place.
This is where you come in. We are inviting you and the crew of Dirty Jobs to come up to Yankee Land, chow down some apple pie and chug some mulled cider before helping a town clean up the beautiful home so the good man who loaned it wouldn’t hesitate to do it again next Halloween.
As an added bonus, the Abernathy estate also has a hedge maze in the back. It’s three acres of fun, and if you’re game after filming, we can all play laser tag there.
Imagine visiting New England during fall season. What could be better?
Hope to see you on November first.
Sincerely,
Dr. Matthew C. Jameson
Thomasville, Idaho
It took Dean nearly half a block to notice Sam was no longer walking besides him. His attention would’ve been sharper but Dean was enjoying his Cornish pasty way too much to realize his six-foot-four-inch shadow was nowhere to be seen.
He turned around and spotted Sam, which admittedly wasn’t too hard due to the fact that Sam was doing his best to become Paul Bunyan Jr.. Dean didn’t even bother to yell for Sam, his brother’s attention was riveted to a storefront window display. It took all of Dean’s control not to roll his eyes; whenever Sam had that look, it meant Dean had no choice but to go along with his brother's schemes.
“What’s up?” Dean asked, greedily polishing off his pasty.
Sam pointed to a worn map on display. It was surrounded by antique books but looked much older than its neighbors. Yellowed with age, its writing was already faded into barely-legible coppery color.
“Still not getting it," Dean said, looking at the map and deciding it wasn't worth half the asking price.
“On the left edge,” Sam answered.
Dean read the three words and burst out laughing. “Here bee monsteres”?
“The mapmaker’s name is Frederic Kunis,” Sam said.
“Why do I know that name?”
“He’s in dad’s journal,” Sam answered, his face tightening with worry. “Kunis was a renown psychic in the early 1800's.”
“Oh, yeah, now I remember,” Dean said. “He blinded himself, didn’t he?”
“Deaf, too. Stuck a hat needle into his ears."
“And he made this map?” Dean leaned so close his forehead rested against the glass.
“From the date, I’d say right before he committed suicide.”
“Dude wasn’t so happy with his gift."
“No, he wasn’t,” Sam agreed readily. “Even though he was blind and deaf, he drew - mostly about his visions.”
“I’m guessing his batting average was high.”
“He was batting a thousand,” Sam confirmed. “And if he made that map - odds are there really is a monster where that map says it is.”
“I'm having a vision: we’re going to blow through Mr. Rider’s Gold Visa,” Dean said.
“We have no choice.”
The map’s tag declared it to be worth five hundred dollars: Dean haggled down the price to four hundred and Mr. Rider’s Gold Visa was good for another week.
Derry, Maine
Mike Rowe wasn't blessed with an iron stomach, but even he couldn’t believe how sick he was after downing what was one of the best breakfasts in his life. The entire crew loved the meal too; they ate their body weight in cornmeal johnnycakes, organic chicken sausages, farm-fresh eggs, and bottomless cups of coffee.
Thirty minutes later, they were all taking turns emptying out their stomachs into the porcelain throne. Between the bouts of heaving, Mike managed to call Dr. Jameson who dropped by and gave them anti-diarrheic and bottled water. The show’s field producer, Dave Barsky, was thinking about canceling their outing, but Jameson was nice enough to invite them over for late afternoon since the clean up was nowhere near done.
Even though they never filmed at night, the crew felt bad enough to at least donate few hours of their time and maybe get some interesting footage. Then, there was the temptation of the hedge maze and an hour to run inside, making fools of themselves and enjoying the challenge of killing each other with toy guns.
Mike took a deep breath and sighed with relief. Since his stomach had settled down, he was able to enjoy everything that a New England fall could offer. Troy, the world’s thinnest cameraman, seemed to revel in the crisp, cold air and the hint of burning leaves.
What was equally impressive, if also intimating, was the Abernathy estate. The mansion looked like a summerhouse for the Rockerfellers though the place was built more than thirty years before the robber barons had amassed their wealth. Feeling something unpleasant sizzle on his nerves as he examined the house, Mike forced his gaze elsewhere and immediately saw the hedge maze. It seemed to span for more than just few acres.
“Dude, this is awesome,” Dave said as he studied the mansion.
Mike turned to look at the huge house looming behind him and felt his apprehension bloom into a scream. “Okay, that’s the best haunted house I’ve ever seen. And they didn’t even have to do much work to make it an eyesore.”
“You really don’t like this job, don’t you?” Troy asked as he unpacked his camera and batteries.
Mike shook his head. “No, there was something about that letter that got to me, you know? Like Dr. Jameson was trying to be too friendly: make this job too interesting for us to say no.”
“You mean a trap?” Dave asked as he helped unpack their gear from the rented Ford.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Dave said. “Because it is. C’mon, no town is so perfectly New England as Derry. They’re trying to rebuild the place by making it a tourist stop. That’s why the B&B lady was so good to us. We come to town, we film this great if also piss scary house, the nice people, and the gorgeous Yankee landscape. Everything will look about as perfect as things can possibly be on television.
“You have to admit it’s pretty damn good way to get free advertising.”
Mike gave a cynical grin and nodded, but his sense of unease did not abate. He looked at the house and mentally grimaced. It’s just a damn job. Let’s get it over with. With that thought he mentally braced himself for what he supposed was an interesting but run-of-the-mill job.
They stood around, waiting fruitlessly for twenty minutes for Dr. Jameson to show up.
“Did you call the doc?” Mike asked, watching the sun dip below the treetops.
“Yeah, it went straight to voicemail,” Dave answered. “Maybe the dude got held up: emergency or something.”
“Did anyone see if the door’s unlocked?” Troy asked, looking up at the house. He shook his head in exasperation when the answer was unanimously negative and ran up the marble steps to try the doors; sure enough, they swung wide open.
Mike gave a chagrined smile and said, “Hey, maybe he’s inside already.”
Troy grabbed his gear and entered the house. Rhea and Will followed, lugging more than their fair share of boxes. It would take them less than an hour to set up for filming.
Mike tried his cell but this time he had no reception.
“Just gets better and better,” he muttered and pocketed it. He watched Doug tentatively step towards the maze and shouted, “Take a look around! See if it’s as great as the advertisement says!”
Mike had to squash the desire to call Doug back as he watched the cameraman give a thumbs up sign before disappearing. Once more, he wondered why he was feeling so antsy. He’d been in the sewers, in graveyards and places where most people, sane or otherwise, would never contemplate visiting, much less working in.
“Hey, you got to take a look at this,” Will said as he appeared on the porch.
Mike heard the strain in the man’s voice and mentally braced himself for bad news. He reluctantly entered the house and then stopped in complete awe.
“H-o-l-y shit,” he whispered as he looked up and up at the huge glass chandelier dominating the foyer. And that wasn’t even the biggest eye candy, either.
There was enough wood paneling to build Noah’s Ark and a log cabin for a family of ten.
“Old money, ain’t nothing like it,” Mike said. “So, is the good doctor around?”
“No,” Will answered. “See anything strange?”
Mike stepped deeper into the house and then tugged on what looked like a bell rope. The chandelier exploded with painfully bright lights, making it look even grander.
“Wow,” he said. “This…” he paused for a moment. “Where are the decorations?”
“That’s the weird part,” Will said. “The entire house is pretty damn clean. If you ask me I’d say…”
The screams stopped Will mid-sentence. They both looked outside and saw nothing that could possibly explain the horrific noise.
“Did you hear that?” Will asked, leaning forward to get a better look in the dying sunlight.
“Step inside,” Mike said, tugging at his shirt.
The second scream froze both men at the doorway.
“What the fuck was that?” Will said, eyes wide with fear.
“That was no animal,” Mike said. “Get the fuck inside! Now!”
Because Mike was facing Will while shouting he’d missed the creature that crashed through the maze.
“Holy...” Will whispered, his head tipping sideways as his neck suddenly lost all strength.
Mike turned and saw something right out of a SyFy movie. Without hesitation he slammed the doors closed and then bolted the many locks.
“Get the others, now!” Mike shouted.
Will didn’t need any more encouragement. He sprinted to the back of the house shouting his friends’ names on top of his lungs. Mike yanked out his cell and tried once more to call. There was still no reception. It fell out of his hands when a scream slapped him across his face.
“Oh, Jesus, Doug!”
He’d forgotten that one of his cameraman went exploring not moments earlier. Then another sound made his hands spasm involuntarily. It was shotgun blasts: cascades of them, actually.
“What is that?” Troy asked as he joined Mike. “Will just told me he saw…”
“Run!” an unfamiliar voice hollered from outside.
“What in blue fuck is going on?” Dave asked even as he grabbed his camera like a weapon.
Something slammed against the doors with such force the five people inside all jumped in unison as if goosed by a cattle prod.
“Let me in!” Doug shouted.
Troy ripped open the doors, grabbed his friend, and was about to slam them closed when two men stumbled in after Doug.
“Holy shit!” Rhea said, looking wide-eyed at the raggedy strangers.
“Dude, we don’t have any money but you’re more than welcome to our gear. Just don’t hurt us, okay?” Dave offered, hands splayed outward in a pleading manner.
“What?” the giant said, looking confused.
“Sam!” the other one shouted. “Maybe we can chat with the civis later? There’s…”
Whatever crashed against the doors nearly took them off the hinges, and Mike knew it had to be the creature he was sure he’d imagined. Maybe it was his free-wheeling ways of dealing with the unusual, or just his job for the last few years, but Mike was able to accept the fact that whatever was on the other side of that door stood over seven feet tall, had horns like a deer and a cyclopic eye.
“Motherfucker!” the shorter psycho yelled. He turned the crew and said, “Got any iron on you?”
“Sorry?” Rhea asked weakly, looking alarmingly green.
“Iron, you know - metal!” he shouted.
“Why?” Rhea asked.
The answer was obvious as a mind-rending wail ached through their bones.
“Look,” Sam said. “Iron is inimical to that…”
“Dude, I can get some!” Dave said feverishly before taking off in a speed Mike didn’t think he’d be capable of. The man returned with what looked like spears stolen right out of Camelot. He threw them at the two men who caught them one-handed.
The strangers checked the weapons out. “Shit, this is real,” the short one said.
“Good,” Mr. Hulk, a.k.a. Sam, said. “On three?”
“Wait a minute,” Mike protested. “You’re not…”
The doors shuddered before groaning. Mike could swear he saw them curve inwards and the fucking things were made of solid oak reinforced with iron and steel.
“Dean!” Sam shouted.
“On three,” was the calm reply.
Sam stood on the side as Dean slowly undid the locks, tossed the doors open and yelled, "Here's Dean-O!"
As loud as Dean's hollering was, it was nothing compared to the chorus that exploded from behind him as the Dirty Jobs crew got their first good look at the monster.
Oh my God, Mike thought. That thing looks like an ape!
Dean plunged his spear right into the center of the creature’s chest while Sam shoved his in with such force that he managed to sink it right into the middle of the shaft.
“Christ on a crutch,” Troy whispered.
Mike turned to his cameraman to discover the man was filming. He thought Troy’s dedication was admirable if also deserving of a two-year stint at a local psychiatric institute.
The creature looked like it swallowed an angry porcupine as its single eye bulged out. It opened its mouth, revealing lamprey-like rows of teeth and gave a roaring burp before collapsing on the floor. Its antlers gouged the beautiful parquet floors but that damage was nothing compared to the spouts of blood painting the priceless flooring.
“You did it,” Mike said stupidly. “Holy shit, you actually killed it?”
Sam gave a shaky nod. “Looks like.” He turned to Dean and asked, “You okay there?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Good,” Sam said. “We should arm up for the other one while we have the chance.”
Doug’s pallor worsened immediately. “What other one?” he asked, pointing at the corpse of a creature that nobody could properly identify. “That one was the … it chased me out of the fucking maze and…”
“Who are you guys?” Dave asked, belligerence creeping into his voice. “And what the fuck is that thing anyway?”
“I’m Dean and this is Sam,” the shorter of the two said. “And that’s a jackalope.”
Mike’s gaze migrated to the floor where the monster was sprawled. “That's not a jackalope.”
“The myths are misleading,” Sam explained. “But the reality is,” he pointed at the beast, “that.”
“Unfortunately, this is a male,” Dean said. “Which means its wifey is out there, probably pissed beyond belief right about now. So, why don’t you guys help us move the body inside so we can close the doors, eh?”
Mike bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t barf all over the jackalope as he and Will helped to drag the carcass in just far enough for Sam to close and bolt the doors.
“Hey, I know you,” Dean said, looking wide-eyed at Mike. “You’re the Dirty Jobs guy!”
Sam looked at Mike but there was neither recognition nor glee in his eyes as he studied Mike and his crew. “Who?”
“Dirty Jobs!” Dean crowed. “Best goddamn show on television!”
“You watch something other than porn?” Sam said sarcastically.
Dean waved a dismissing hand towards Sam. “Don’t mind him. He only watches Lifetime Channel. I have to tell you I'm a huge fan of you guys. Best thing on television and believe me, I’ve watched everything.”
Mike actually managed to smile. “Thanks.”
Sam looked at him closer but there was still no recognition, and Mike couldn’t help but feel a little miffed.
“Excuse me,” Troy interrupted. “But about that female?”
“Sam,” Dean said and pulled out two automatics from his jacket, "we better reload.”
Doug stepped back. “Oh yeah, you had guns. I forgot about that.”
“Guns?” Dave echoed. “Who are you two exactly?”
“We found a map,” Sam explained. “And it led us here.”
“A map,” Dave said in disbelief. “What did it say? Monsters here - good luck killing them?”
“Something like that,” Dean said. “Look, where did the weapons come from? We need more.”
“They’re in the dining hall,” Rhea answered. “The entire room is lined with these knights holding those things. I thought they were fake.”
Sam shook his head. “No, these are real. They’re made of iron.”
“Which kills jackalopes how?” Mike added.
“Spears first, talk later,” Dean said and turned to Sam. “I’ll grab them. You explain to the folks what the fuck is going on.”
Dean followed Rhea down the corridor. Sam looked after them with worry before examining the jackalope.
“Sam, please?” Mike asked as politely as he could manage, even though he wanted to throttle the man. Armed or not.
“Jackalopes migrated from Europe with the first settlers,” Sam explained. “The lore says they mate for life. Unfortunately for us, the male is the smaller of the two. Also, the female’s the real hunter, like in nature.”
“Why are they here?” Doug asked.
“They were deliberately brought here,” Sam answered. “Look, this town - Derry - is not right in every sense of the word. It’s rotten to the core and has been since the beginning. Dean and I figure the jackalopes were established here for luck and protection.”
“Protect against what?” Mike studied the corpse. “The Hound of Baskervilles?”
“Well, they also guarantee good crops, not unlike pagan gods certain religions made sacrifices to.”
“You mean human sacrifices,” Troy added. “Right?”
“Human sacrifices?” Dave echoed. “Wait a minute…”
“Yes, and you guys were it,” Sam answered.
“We were the…” Mike paused and looked at his crew. “No fucking way.”
“Yes, you were. You were suppose to go into the maze where the jackalopes were waiting. We’re guessing that’s where the sacrifices take place.”
“Exactly how long has this been going on?” Troy asked. “Because if that map you were talking about led you here, then…”
“Over two hundred years,” Sam said gently, "maybe more. At the end of each thirty some-odd year cycle, people are sacrificed to those things. In return, the Abernathys and whoever they’re in league with get richer and richer.”
The sounds of clanking metal drew their attention to the comical sight of Dean wrestling with armful of spears. He handed two to Sam. “I got all of them. For the record? That room is awesome. It’s like King Arthur eats there every night.”
He turned to Mike and handed him one. “I know you can handle all kinds of shit.”
“Thanks,” Mike said dryly. He hefted it in his hands and felt the weight. Have to admire the two for handling the thing like it weighs nothing,
“So, the female’s after us now?” Doug asked, looking enviously at Mike’s weapon.
“Here,” Sam said, giving him one of his own. “You take this one, just in case.”
“Thanks,” Doug said in a weak voice.
“Why us?” Will asked.
“Because you’re outsiders,” Dean said. “You guys are easy targets. Who saw you actually come into town?”
“Dr. Jameson,” Mike answered promptly. “And Mrs. Henry from Morceau’s B&B.”
“Jameson? You mean Matthew Jameson?” Dean asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Dr. Jameson is Julian Abernathy’s half-brother,” Sam answered. “And Mrs. Henry is actually Ms. Henry. She’s also related to the Abernathy family through marriage.”
Mike snarled, “I knew this job was too good to be true."
“Yeah, well, you can make a show about how all this sucks, but right now we’ve got to get out of here,” Dean said.
“Before his wifey gets back,” Mike added. “How bad is she?”
“Bigger, stronger, meaner, and pretty much completely psycho since her hubby’s dead,” Dean replied.
The first thud ripped open the top half of a door, and the jackalope's head was able to squeeze through after an elongated arm ending in a hardened claw raked inwards over the shattered bits of wood.
“Upstairs!” Sam shouted.
The entire group bolted with Troy leading the pack. Mike knew the guy was fast but he’d never seen the cameraman haul ass at lightspeed. Sam managed to find a room on the second floor whose door was just as thick as the front ones.
After securing the room, Dean looked out the windows and said, “Well, shit.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“This room faces the maze,” Dean answered.
“That might actually be good news,” Sam said.
“How?” Mike wheezed out after taking few gulps of air.
“Because if we make it through the maze, we should be okay,” Sam replied, looking thoughtfully at the vista.
“That actually makes sense,” Dean agreed. “It’s not going to be easy but if the lore’s right then you guys should be safe.”
“Why can’t we just take the van?” Mike didn't mean to sound whiny but he couldn't help himself.
“It has your scent,” Sam said. “None of you will make it to the road.”
“So we kill the damn thing and then we’re free?” Mike asked.
“There’s nothing Abernathy or his people can do if the jackalope’s dead,” Dean said.
It was then Mike realized they were all whispering. The second fact was the eerie silence. Dean seemed to notice the same thing.
“We have to get out now,” Dean said. “It’s in the house.”
Sam opened the French windows and looked down. “The truck should break the fall.”
Mike looked down. “Are you serious?”
Sam nodded. “Now.”
To Mike’s surprise it was Dave, the stoutest of the entire group, who took the first leap. He landed with the level of grace usually reserved for drunks; fortunately, he made little noise. Dean followed with Rhea then Will. Troy was posed to jump when the door flew open, turning into a sled for the jackalope as she stumbled then fell on top of it. She slid forward then came to a violent stop by slamming her claws into the floor.
By the time Sam got off a shot Troy was freewheeling into open air quickly followed by Doug. Mike gamely threw his spear but completely missed. He cried out, “Fuck!” before jumping out the window. He heard Sam fire off his shotgun as he hit the hood of the Ford and thought for a moment that the car was as sturdy as advertised, and that he should be happy that he was the company's spokesperson.
Sam barely missed him as he hit the edge of the roof before being dumped on the hood.
“That oughta hurt,” Mike said.
“Now I remember you,” Sam said, his eyes widening. “Your show is both exploitative and narcissistic.”
“Everyone’s a critic.”
Sam skittered off the roof and yanked Mike off the car. They hotfooted to the maze, catching up with the rest of the group. Mike didn’t even bother to turn around when he heard a rupture of metal and glass. He figured the jackalope followed their path and the Ford was now scrap metal, and maybe a topic for future episode.
In spite of it being completely night, Mike was able to see clearly because of the moon. He looked up and saw what was commonly called ‘blood-red moon’. Putting aside the unsettling coloration, he also saw a grinning skull leering down at him.
“Oh, this is so fucked,” he said while trying to keep up with the people ahead of him.
At least I’m not forced to give narration, Mike thought as he kept up with Sam. Cause that would consist of one long ssssshhhhhiiiiittttt and probably would piss of the suits and scare the viewers.
The idle thought almost caused Mike’s death as he didn’t watch where he was going. He stumbled over loose gravel and nearly went sprawling. Instead of feeling the stones tear off his face he felt one strong hand grabbed the back of his jacket and yank him back up.
Mike looked up but was shushed by Sam. He paused and listened to the preternatural silence. There was nothing chirping or singing: not even the slight movements of nocturnal animals scavenging for food.
Fucking great: even the goddamn critters knew better than to stay around tonight.
Sam led him to a bend in the maze where the rest of the group was tightly huddled. Dean made hand motions that were a puzzle to Mike but were completely transparent to Sam. His reply was a nod before going forward, amazingly silent in spite of his size.
Dean made a motion for everyone to get up and slowly move forward. Sam was waiting for them around the corner, twenty feet ahead. For some reason his posture reminded Mike of the girl in the ginger ale ad that ran on television so long ago. Sam gave a signal and Dean started to move faster so the group had to break into a trot in order to keep up.
Sam pointed something on the ground, and thanks to the full moon, Mike could see what it was: a small pouch made out of leather. What was shocking was its content spilled all over the place: human teeth.
Those things are like serial killers, Mike concluded. They kept trophies of their kills.
Mike heard a gagging noise and turned to see Doug about to hurl. Usually, he’d crack a joke or make a smartass remark, but he was too fearful right now to say anything. Dean grabbed Doug by his shoulder and gently shook him. Thankfully, it was enough for Doug not to start upchucking right then and there.
Mike watched Dean as he looked up for no reason. However, Sam seemed alarmed enough and took out what looked like a carving knife designed by Freddy Krueger.
The crashing noise was enough to startle anyone, but what made it was enough to drive people to enroll in the three-year plan with their health care’s preferred psychiatrist.
Now that Mike was close enough to the jackalope to smell its rancid breath and get sprayed by its foamy, absinthe-colored spittle, he saw that the thing had no real hands. He’d assumed the large claws at the end of its arms were attached to something. Now he’d realized that the arms ended in stumps with the claws sprouting out like some demented branches.
One of them made a swipe at him. Mike stumbled backward, felt it cross where his head had been only moments before. He also felt a shotgun blast travel by his left shoulder and heard Dean scream:
“Eat that, you ugly mother!”
With those sentiments still echoing in the air, Dean hustled the group with Sam leading the way.
“You know where you’re going?!” Dean shouted.
“Yeah!” Sam answered. “I memorized the map!”
Oh please God, let that map be good. I’ve followed so many wrong directions because the mapmaker was drunk and stoned and listening to country music because his girlfriend preferred to screw his father than him. Mike wondered if that prayer was de facto no-go and realized he didn’t really care.
Will nearly collided with Sam when he came to a sudden stop but managed to step sideways, narrowly avoiding him. Dean looked around and gave a nod to their point man who looked relieved by the motion. Whatever these two may be, they were more than competent to shepherd people through a maze designed by Lovecraft’s bastard child with Poe.
Sam began to hurry his pace, and everyone did the same. They all felt sure that the end was just around a corner, maybe two. Mike wondered what they would do afterwards. And how they would explain the destruction of a rental not to mention over one hundred thousands dollars worth of missing camera equipment.
Mike wasn’t too surprised to find he didn’t care much. Discovery Channel could fucking sue him when this mess ended. As long as he and his crew got out safe, he’ll be happy to hawk whatever Ford Company wanted him to in order to pay the bill. In fact, he’ll be more than willing to work for QVC again if that’s what it took. He looked up and felt dismay sink whatever happy thoughts he had. The moon was still redder than sin and resembled a syphilitic whore at her deathbed. He wondered if it looked like that with everyone or he was just that lucky.
Sam paused once more and the entire group froze, including Dave who was in mid-step. With one foot dangling in the air, he would’ve looked comical save for the fear so very evident on his face.
It was the poisonous scent that alerted Mike to the jackalope’s presence. One of its claws ripped through the hedges right in front of Rhea’s head. Sam leapt towards her and slashed at the claw with the knife Mike had noticed earlier.
The result was immediate if also bloody. Ropes of viscous blood jettisoned onto Sam’s head and Rhea who screamed “Jesus!” before retching violently. That movement saved her as the other claw suddenly ripped through the hedges and swung right where her throat would’ve been.
Sam cut off that claw too, looking like an escapee from a Saw movie.
In spite of being covered by gore and blood, Sam picked up the severed claws, tossed one to Dean, and hustled the group forward. Mike followed, not daring to look at Rhea’s face lit up by that cursed moon. Will, who took her place behind Sam, let out a sigh of relief when he spotted something around a corner.
That was enough for Mike to hope again.
The elation was further bolstered by Rhea’s sudden dash. Doug, who was in front of Mike, turned left and disappeared. Mike followed and nearly stumbled when he was suddenly thrown open to a field left to seed. He heard Dean give a small whoop of triumph, but any rejoicing was cut short by the severely injured monster crashing through the hedge wall to Mike’s left. Its single eye was now bloodshot and somehow projected twice the insanity that it did before.
“Oh, fuck!” Dave cried out and tripped backwards, landing flat on his back.
“Hey, ugly!” Dean shouted. “Forgot something?” He tossed a claw into the air then caught it with casual ease.
That single gesture was enough to get the creature’s complete attention and its unchecked rage. Dean ducked quickly but couldn’t completely escape the creature’s attack. It slammed into his left shoulder, sending him spinning before falling face first into the grass. The claw fell out of his grasp and tumbled right in front of Mike’s feet.
Somewhere and Mike had no idea where, Doug got his hand on a large pumpkin. He hurled it at the jackalope and managed to knock its right antler off its ugly bony head. Feeding off his producer’s anger, Mike picked up the claw and plunged it into the creature’s right arm.
The response was immediate: it fell to its knees with a protesting whine which made Mike feel angrier. He decided that the claw needed to go in deeper so he stomped it in.
This is for making me row in a pond of shit! Mike stomped harder. And this? This is for not letting me say CRAP on TELEVISION! I’m almost fifty-years-old, I should be able to say crap. Hell, I should be able to scream shit when I am waist deep in SHIT!
Mike was about to nail the claw harder when Sam shoved him aside to deliver the killing blow onto its head. After watching the monster fall flat on her face, Mike turned around, breathing laboriously and caught everyone’s stunned looks, including Dean who said:
“You’re awesome!”
Mike gave a weak smile and bent forward, sucking in as much air as possible. His knees gave out so he decided that, really, his life would vastly improve if he just laid on the ground for a while.
Of course, the moment he did, the moon came to view. However, its murderous color slowly bled out until it was pristine white again.
I am too old for this. Really. Oh man, can’t feel my kidneys. Or my thighs.
Mike heard crunching of dead leaves and looked to his right. He saw a pair of motorcycle boots stop about a foot from his head. Then Dean leaned into view and offered a hand.
“You cool?” Dean asked softly as he pulled him up.
“No, not really,” Mike answered honestly. “And don’t tell me I will be because that’s just shit.”
“Know better than to lie to you,” Dean said. “Look, you’re going to have nightmares but you’re also going to realize that life goes on. Bills need to be paid, Christmas presents have to be bought and mailed, and you’re going to have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the Super Bowl.”
Mike wasn’t at all surprised to hear Dave burst out laughing. However, he was taken back when his throaty laughter joined his friend’s.
“You folks have to get out of here,” Sam said. “When the people responsible for all this finds the pair dead, they're going to be very upset.”
“You guys got any wheels?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, we came in two cars. We can fit in the van,” Rhea answered, searching her pockets for the car keys. She was positively anal about being the one to drive and refused to let anyone, Mike included, to take the wheels. Not that he was complaining. Somewhere between the screaming and running and praying to whatever deity was open for business Mike’s backpockets were ripped off.
Mike was aggravated just enough to consider kicking the jackalope’s carcass again. Dave must have seen the intent on his face and shook his head, making a slight motion towards their rescuers who were checking their weapons, looking even scarier than they already did.
Both men must felt their gazes because they looked up at the same time.
“Questions?” Dean asked.
“Why did you come here?” Mike asked. "And don't say because some handy-dandy map fell on your lap."
“It’s our job to hunt down monsters,” Sam answered after a careful pause.
“And sorry to say it’s not a ride you guys can come along,” Dean added, “though it’d be great to have you guys film what we do.”
Mike saw Troy's lip twitch. “Yeah, thanks for the offer but we’ll pass. So, what’s next?”
“Another town, another monster,” Dean answered. “The job security can’t be beat unless you die, of course.”
“That’s kinda sad,” Doug said.
“Not really,” Dean said, loading a clip into his desert eagle. “It’s got some perks.”
“What’s the biggest downside?” Mike asked, suddenly curious about the men in front of him.
“Hunts that require special tools,” Sam replied.
Both Mike and Will turned to look at the jacaklope’s carcass whose claws were driven into its body.
“This one was an easy hunt compared to some others,” Sam added. “We knew how to kill this thing…”
“About that,” Doug asked. “Where the hell do you get your info? Clive Barker was having a garage sale?”
“Nope,” Dean said and pointed to Sam. “My brother here is a clearinghouse for every freaky information known to man, and other beings.”
“Brother?” Rhea asked, looking at both of them. “Really? I thought…”
“Cool,” Mike interrupted before Rhea pissed off the big men armed with enough guns to worry the NRA. “So, this hunt was easy?”
“Relatively,” Sam admitted. “We try to get any civilians out of danger before we start. We had no idea you guys would be here.”
“We were in Derry earlier to check out the locals but found nothing. So, we decided come out and stumbled over Doug,” Dean said. “Good thing we did, too.”
Doug nodded fervently. “I thought I was a dead man for sure.”
“I think you should get going,” Sam urged everyone. “We really shouldn’t be sticking around like this.”
“Won't argue with that,” Mike said. He reached out and took Dean’s hand. “Thanks for everything.” He shook Sam’s too. “Good luck.”
“Get out of town fast. Don’t stop at the B&B. Get out of Maine. In fact, drive right through Massachusetts," Dean advised seriously.
“We’re thinking New York,” Will said.
“That should be far enough,” Sam said. “Don’t use your cell until you’re out of Derry. Just in case.”
“Sounds like good advice,” Mike said. “What are you going to do?”
“Hunt down their nest and see if there are any eggs," Dean replied breezily.
The entire crew froze as they contemplated what a nest of jackalope eggs looked like.
“Okay, we’re going now,” Doug said hurriedly. “Take care of yourselves”
“Oh, hey, before you go, could I get your autographs?” Dean asked, pulling out a tattered notepad. “All you guys?”
Mike felt like the world's biggest dickwad when he wrote,
Best of luck and thanks for everything!
Sincerely,
Mike
And from the looks of everyone else in his crew, they were laboring under the same emotion as they signed Dean’s notepad. They remained quiet in their shame as Rhea drove them out of Derry, an outpost of Hell.
Hilton, Montana
“I’m Mike Rowe, and this is my job.
“Today, we are going to meet people who have one-hundred percent job security for reasons you don’t even want to imagine. Let’s say you spot an animal that behaves like it’s got rabies. What do you do? Well, you make a call to Animal Control for the County of...”
The End
Author's Notes:
I love Dirty Jobs. It's one of my favorite television shows, but I'm not above shamelessly using them in a RPF when the need calls for it. I'm pretty sure jackalopes aren't as bloodthirsty as my stories made them out to be, but then who knows? Maybe they are carnivorous eight-footers with a single eye and claws instead of hands, especially in the world of Supernatural, which is a damn good reason to love the show.
So, hope you folks enjoyed the story and have a safe and great Halloween for those of us who celebrate the thirty-first!
Addendum: I was in such a hurry to post that I forgot to add the fact that 'Derry, Maine' is Stephen King's creation. It's the birthplace of his greatest villain (IMHO), Pennywise from It. I firmly believe Derry is not only the reason King writes what he does, but also where he writes when he's pumping out his horror novels.
Genre: RPF(?), casefic
Pairing: none
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dirty Jobs
Warnings: None
Rating: R for language and violence
Prompt: #56. The map in the window was old, its colors were faded, and on the edges it said, in curling script, "Here bee Monsteres".
Disclaimer: Fiction, fiction, and more fiction. Since I've included Mike Rowe and his entire camera crew for this Halloween jaunt, an extra heap of fiction.
Summary: Mike Rowe and his crew drop by the picturesque New England town of Derry to film an episode of Dirty Jobs only to find they've become human sacrifices. Then, they're rescued by two psychos armed and ready to rock-n-roll with monsters thought to be the creations of drunken men who had nothing better to do than tell tall tales. And people think reality show industry is scripted.
Author's Note: Written for spn_halloween.
Dear Mike:
Let’s start with the truth: I have never watched an episode of Dirty Jobs. I’m usually in bed by the time your show airs, or I’m too busy with my practice to take the time to appreciate your work. My kids, however, are huge fans of Dirty Jobs and have floated the idea of inviting you over for a special night, one that hasn’t happened in thirty-three years.
If I still have your interest, the task at hand requires few men who don't mind getting dirty and who aren’t afraid of a creaky, allegedly haunted house. Mr. Abernathy’s mansion was built on the outskirts of Derry by his great-grandfather. The town itself was created by the booming lumber industry in the early nineteenth century. Mr. Abernathy’s family fortune was also built by the same thing before expanding to minerals and oil. The family’s wealth increased over the years, but Derry’s declined, especially after the horrific storm in 1985 that tore downtown apart.
We are hardy folks, though, and Derry is slowly rebuilding itself. Mr. Julian C. Abernathy IV, who now lives with his children in San Francisco, has done something astonishing: he has opened his family home to the public for the week of Halloween, giving the town council permission to transform the historic mansion into a haunted one. Even better, the old man is charging prices from the last time he had been so gracious; fifty cents for adults, a quarter for kids under the age of eighteen, and free admission for children under five, with the funds being donated to Derry’s Soup Kitchen.
The town has officially gone mad with the decorating, but the hard part is what comes after. We need volunteers to take down all the fake cobwebs, the papier-mâché ghosts, and whatever else strewn about the place.
This is where you come in. We are inviting you and the crew of Dirty Jobs to come up to Yankee Land, chow down some apple pie and chug some mulled cider before helping a town clean up the beautiful home so the good man who loaned it wouldn’t hesitate to do it again next Halloween.
As an added bonus, the Abernathy estate also has a hedge maze in the back. It’s three acres of fun, and if you’re game after filming, we can all play laser tag there.
Imagine visiting New England during fall season. What could be better?
Hope to see you on November first.
Sincerely,
Dr. Matthew C. Jameson
Thomasville, Idaho
It took Dean nearly half a block to notice Sam was no longer walking besides him. His attention would’ve been sharper but Dean was enjoying his Cornish pasty way too much to realize his six-foot-four-inch shadow was nowhere to be seen.
He turned around and spotted Sam, which admittedly wasn’t too hard due to the fact that Sam was doing his best to become Paul Bunyan Jr.. Dean didn’t even bother to yell for Sam, his brother’s attention was riveted to a storefront window display. It took all of Dean’s control not to roll his eyes; whenever Sam had that look, it meant Dean had no choice but to go along with his brother's schemes.
“What’s up?” Dean asked, greedily polishing off his pasty.
Sam pointed to a worn map on display. It was surrounded by antique books but looked much older than its neighbors. Yellowed with age, its writing was already faded into barely-legible coppery color.
“Still not getting it," Dean said, looking at the map and deciding it wasn't worth half the asking price.
“On the left edge,” Sam answered.
Dean read the three words and burst out laughing. “Here bee monsteres”?
“The mapmaker’s name is Frederic Kunis,” Sam said.
“Why do I know that name?”
“He’s in dad’s journal,” Sam answered, his face tightening with worry. “Kunis was a renown psychic in the early 1800's.”
“Oh, yeah, now I remember,” Dean said. “He blinded himself, didn’t he?”
“Deaf, too. Stuck a hat needle into his ears."
“And he made this map?” Dean leaned so close his forehead rested against the glass.
“From the date, I’d say right before he committed suicide.”
“Dude wasn’t so happy with his gift."
“No, he wasn’t,” Sam agreed readily. “Even though he was blind and deaf, he drew - mostly about his visions.”
“I’m guessing his batting average was high.”
“He was batting a thousand,” Sam confirmed. “And if he made that map - odds are there really is a monster where that map says it is.”
“I'm having a vision: we’re going to blow through Mr. Rider’s Gold Visa,” Dean said.
“We have no choice.”
The map’s tag declared it to be worth five hundred dollars: Dean haggled down the price to four hundred and Mr. Rider’s Gold Visa was good for another week.
Derry, Maine
Mike Rowe wasn't blessed with an iron stomach, but even he couldn’t believe how sick he was after downing what was one of the best breakfasts in his life. The entire crew loved the meal too; they ate their body weight in cornmeal johnnycakes, organic chicken sausages, farm-fresh eggs, and bottomless cups of coffee.
Thirty minutes later, they were all taking turns emptying out their stomachs into the porcelain throne. Between the bouts of heaving, Mike managed to call Dr. Jameson who dropped by and gave them anti-diarrheic and bottled water. The show’s field producer, Dave Barsky, was thinking about canceling their outing, but Jameson was nice enough to invite them over for late afternoon since the clean up was nowhere near done.
Even though they never filmed at night, the crew felt bad enough to at least donate few hours of their time and maybe get some interesting footage. Then, there was the temptation of the hedge maze and an hour to run inside, making fools of themselves and enjoying the challenge of killing each other with toy guns.
Mike took a deep breath and sighed with relief. Since his stomach had settled down, he was able to enjoy everything that a New England fall could offer. Troy, the world’s thinnest cameraman, seemed to revel in the crisp, cold air and the hint of burning leaves.
What was equally impressive, if also intimating, was the Abernathy estate. The mansion looked like a summerhouse for the Rockerfellers though the place was built more than thirty years before the robber barons had amassed their wealth. Feeling something unpleasant sizzle on his nerves as he examined the house, Mike forced his gaze elsewhere and immediately saw the hedge maze. It seemed to span for more than just few acres.
“Dude, this is awesome,” Dave said as he studied the mansion.
Mike turned to look at the huge house looming behind him and felt his apprehension bloom into a scream. “Okay, that’s the best haunted house I’ve ever seen. And they didn’t even have to do much work to make it an eyesore.”
“You really don’t like this job, don’t you?” Troy asked as he unpacked his camera and batteries.
Mike shook his head. “No, there was something about that letter that got to me, you know? Like Dr. Jameson was trying to be too friendly: make this job too interesting for us to say no.”
“You mean a trap?” Dave asked as he helped unpack their gear from the rented Ford.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Dave said. “Because it is. C’mon, no town is so perfectly New England as Derry. They’re trying to rebuild the place by making it a tourist stop. That’s why the B&B lady was so good to us. We come to town, we film this great if also piss scary house, the nice people, and the gorgeous Yankee landscape. Everything will look about as perfect as things can possibly be on television.
“You have to admit it’s pretty damn good way to get free advertising.”
Mike gave a cynical grin and nodded, but his sense of unease did not abate. He looked at the house and mentally grimaced. It’s just a damn job. Let’s get it over with. With that thought he mentally braced himself for what he supposed was an interesting but run-of-the-mill job.
They stood around, waiting fruitlessly for twenty minutes for Dr. Jameson to show up.
“Did you call the doc?” Mike asked, watching the sun dip below the treetops.
“Yeah, it went straight to voicemail,” Dave answered. “Maybe the dude got held up: emergency or something.”
“Did anyone see if the door’s unlocked?” Troy asked, looking up at the house. He shook his head in exasperation when the answer was unanimously negative and ran up the marble steps to try the doors; sure enough, they swung wide open.
Mike gave a chagrined smile and said, “Hey, maybe he’s inside already.”
Troy grabbed his gear and entered the house. Rhea and Will followed, lugging more than their fair share of boxes. It would take them less than an hour to set up for filming.
Mike tried his cell but this time he had no reception.
“Just gets better and better,” he muttered and pocketed it. He watched Doug tentatively step towards the maze and shouted, “Take a look around! See if it’s as great as the advertisement says!”
Mike had to squash the desire to call Doug back as he watched the cameraman give a thumbs up sign before disappearing. Once more, he wondered why he was feeling so antsy. He’d been in the sewers, in graveyards and places where most people, sane or otherwise, would never contemplate visiting, much less working in.
“Hey, you got to take a look at this,” Will said as he appeared on the porch.
Mike heard the strain in the man’s voice and mentally braced himself for bad news. He reluctantly entered the house and then stopped in complete awe.
“H-o-l-y shit,” he whispered as he looked up and up at the huge glass chandelier dominating the foyer. And that wasn’t even the biggest eye candy, either.
There was enough wood paneling to build Noah’s Ark and a log cabin for a family of ten.
“Old money, ain’t nothing like it,” Mike said. “So, is the good doctor around?”
“No,” Will answered. “See anything strange?”
Mike stepped deeper into the house and then tugged on what looked like a bell rope. The chandelier exploded with painfully bright lights, making it look even grander.
“Wow,” he said. “This…” he paused for a moment. “Where are the decorations?”
“That’s the weird part,” Will said. “The entire house is pretty damn clean. If you ask me I’d say…”
The screams stopped Will mid-sentence. They both looked outside and saw nothing that could possibly explain the horrific noise.
“Did you hear that?” Will asked, leaning forward to get a better look in the dying sunlight.
“Step inside,” Mike said, tugging at his shirt.
The second scream froze both men at the doorway.
“What the fuck was that?” Will said, eyes wide with fear.
“That was no animal,” Mike said. “Get the fuck inside! Now!”
Because Mike was facing Will while shouting he’d missed the creature that crashed through the maze.
“Holy...” Will whispered, his head tipping sideways as his neck suddenly lost all strength.
Mike turned and saw something right out of a SyFy movie. Without hesitation he slammed the doors closed and then bolted the many locks.
“Get the others, now!” Mike shouted.
Will didn’t need any more encouragement. He sprinted to the back of the house shouting his friends’ names on top of his lungs. Mike yanked out his cell and tried once more to call. There was still no reception. It fell out of his hands when a scream slapped him across his face.
“Oh, Jesus, Doug!”
He’d forgotten that one of his cameraman went exploring not moments earlier. Then another sound made his hands spasm involuntarily. It was shotgun blasts: cascades of them, actually.
“What is that?” Troy asked as he joined Mike. “Will just told me he saw…”
“Run!” an unfamiliar voice hollered from outside.
“What in blue fuck is going on?” Dave asked even as he grabbed his camera like a weapon.
Something slammed against the doors with such force the five people inside all jumped in unison as if goosed by a cattle prod.
“Let me in!” Doug shouted.
Troy ripped open the doors, grabbed his friend, and was about to slam them closed when two men stumbled in after Doug.
“Holy shit!” Rhea said, looking wide-eyed at the raggedy strangers.
“Dude, we don’t have any money but you’re more than welcome to our gear. Just don’t hurt us, okay?” Dave offered, hands splayed outward in a pleading manner.
“What?” the giant said, looking confused.
“Sam!” the other one shouted. “Maybe we can chat with the civis later? There’s…”
Whatever crashed against the doors nearly took them off the hinges, and Mike knew it had to be the creature he was sure he’d imagined. Maybe it was his free-wheeling ways of dealing with the unusual, or just his job for the last few years, but Mike was able to accept the fact that whatever was on the other side of that door stood over seven feet tall, had horns like a deer and a cyclopic eye.
“Motherfucker!” the shorter psycho yelled. He turned the crew and said, “Got any iron on you?”
“Sorry?” Rhea asked weakly, looking alarmingly green.
“Iron, you know - metal!” he shouted.
“Why?” Rhea asked.
The answer was obvious as a mind-rending wail ached through their bones.
“Look,” Sam said. “Iron is inimical to that…”
“Dude, I can get some!” Dave said feverishly before taking off in a speed Mike didn’t think he’d be capable of. The man returned with what looked like spears stolen right out of Camelot. He threw them at the two men who caught them one-handed.
The strangers checked the weapons out. “Shit, this is real,” the short one said.
“Good,” Mr. Hulk, a.k.a. Sam, said. “On three?”
“Wait a minute,” Mike protested. “You’re not…”
The doors shuddered before groaning. Mike could swear he saw them curve inwards and the fucking things were made of solid oak reinforced with iron and steel.
“Dean!” Sam shouted.
“On three,” was the calm reply.
Sam stood on the side as Dean slowly undid the locks, tossed the doors open and yelled, "Here's Dean-O!"
As loud as Dean's hollering was, it was nothing compared to the chorus that exploded from behind him as the Dirty Jobs crew got their first good look at the monster.
Oh my God, Mike thought. That thing looks like an ape!
Dean plunged his spear right into the center of the creature’s chest while Sam shoved his in with such force that he managed to sink it right into the middle of the shaft.
“Christ on a crutch,” Troy whispered.
Mike turned to his cameraman to discover the man was filming. He thought Troy’s dedication was admirable if also deserving of a two-year stint at a local psychiatric institute.
The creature looked like it swallowed an angry porcupine as its single eye bulged out. It opened its mouth, revealing lamprey-like rows of teeth and gave a roaring burp before collapsing on the floor. Its antlers gouged the beautiful parquet floors but that damage was nothing compared to the spouts of blood painting the priceless flooring.
“You did it,” Mike said stupidly. “Holy shit, you actually killed it?”
Sam gave a shaky nod. “Looks like.” He turned to Dean and asked, “You okay there?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Good,” Sam said. “We should arm up for the other one while we have the chance.”
Doug’s pallor worsened immediately. “What other one?” he asked, pointing at the corpse of a creature that nobody could properly identify. “That one was the … it chased me out of the fucking maze and…”
“Who are you guys?” Dave asked, belligerence creeping into his voice. “And what the fuck is that thing anyway?”
“I’m Dean and this is Sam,” the shorter of the two said. “And that’s a jackalope.”
Mike’s gaze migrated to the floor where the monster was sprawled. “That's not a jackalope.”
“The myths are misleading,” Sam explained. “But the reality is,” he pointed at the beast, “that.”
“Unfortunately, this is a male,” Dean said. “Which means its wifey is out there, probably pissed beyond belief right about now. So, why don’t you guys help us move the body inside so we can close the doors, eh?”
Mike bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t barf all over the jackalope as he and Will helped to drag the carcass in just far enough for Sam to close and bolt the doors.
“Hey, I know you,” Dean said, looking wide-eyed at Mike. “You’re the Dirty Jobs guy!”
Sam looked at Mike but there was neither recognition nor glee in his eyes as he studied Mike and his crew. “Who?”
“Dirty Jobs!” Dean crowed. “Best goddamn show on television!”
“You watch something other than porn?” Sam said sarcastically.
Dean waved a dismissing hand towards Sam. “Don’t mind him. He only watches Lifetime Channel. I have to tell you I'm a huge fan of you guys. Best thing on television and believe me, I’ve watched everything.”
Mike actually managed to smile. “Thanks.”
Sam looked at him closer but there was still no recognition, and Mike couldn’t help but feel a little miffed.
“Excuse me,” Troy interrupted. “But about that female?”
“Sam,” Dean said and pulled out two automatics from his jacket, "we better reload.”
Doug stepped back. “Oh yeah, you had guns. I forgot about that.”
“Guns?” Dave echoed. “Who are you two exactly?”
“We found a map,” Sam explained. “And it led us here.”
“A map,” Dave said in disbelief. “What did it say? Monsters here - good luck killing them?”
“Something like that,” Dean said. “Look, where did the weapons come from? We need more.”
“They’re in the dining hall,” Rhea answered. “The entire room is lined with these knights holding those things. I thought they were fake.”
Sam shook his head. “No, these are real. They’re made of iron.”
“Which kills jackalopes how?” Mike added.
“Spears first, talk later,” Dean said and turned to Sam. “I’ll grab them. You explain to the folks what the fuck is going on.”
Dean followed Rhea down the corridor. Sam looked after them with worry before examining the jackalope.
“Sam, please?” Mike asked as politely as he could manage, even though he wanted to throttle the man. Armed or not.
“Jackalopes migrated from Europe with the first settlers,” Sam explained. “The lore says they mate for life. Unfortunately for us, the male is the smaller of the two. Also, the female’s the real hunter, like in nature.”
“Why are they here?” Doug asked.
“They were deliberately brought here,” Sam answered. “Look, this town - Derry - is not right in every sense of the word. It’s rotten to the core and has been since the beginning. Dean and I figure the jackalopes were established here for luck and protection.”
“Protect against what?” Mike studied the corpse. “The Hound of Baskervilles?”
“Well, they also guarantee good crops, not unlike pagan gods certain religions made sacrifices to.”
“You mean human sacrifices,” Troy added. “Right?”
“Human sacrifices?” Dave echoed. “Wait a minute…”
“Yes, and you guys were it,” Sam answered.
“We were the…” Mike paused and looked at his crew. “No fucking way.”
“Yes, you were. You were suppose to go into the maze where the jackalopes were waiting. We’re guessing that’s where the sacrifices take place.”
“Exactly how long has this been going on?” Troy asked. “Because if that map you were talking about led you here, then…”
“Over two hundred years,” Sam said gently, "maybe more. At the end of each thirty some-odd year cycle, people are sacrificed to those things. In return, the Abernathys and whoever they’re in league with get richer and richer.”
The sounds of clanking metal drew their attention to the comical sight of Dean wrestling with armful of spears. He handed two to Sam. “I got all of them. For the record? That room is awesome. It’s like King Arthur eats there every night.”
He turned to Mike and handed him one. “I know you can handle all kinds of shit.”
“Thanks,” Mike said dryly. He hefted it in his hands and felt the weight. Have to admire the two for handling the thing like it weighs nothing,
“So, the female’s after us now?” Doug asked, looking enviously at Mike’s weapon.
“Here,” Sam said, giving him one of his own. “You take this one, just in case.”
“Thanks,” Doug said in a weak voice.
“Why us?” Will asked.
“Because you’re outsiders,” Dean said. “You guys are easy targets. Who saw you actually come into town?”
“Dr. Jameson,” Mike answered promptly. “And Mrs. Henry from Morceau’s B&B.”
“Jameson? You mean Matthew Jameson?” Dean asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Dr. Jameson is Julian Abernathy’s half-brother,” Sam answered. “And Mrs. Henry is actually Ms. Henry. She’s also related to the Abernathy family through marriage.”
Mike snarled, “I knew this job was too good to be true."
“Yeah, well, you can make a show about how all this sucks, but right now we’ve got to get out of here,” Dean said.
“Before his wifey gets back,” Mike added. “How bad is she?”
“Bigger, stronger, meaner, and pretty much completely psycho since her hubby’s dead,” Dean replied.
The first thud ripped open the top half of a door, and the jackalope's head was able to squeeze through after an elongated arm ending in a hardened claw raked inwards over the shattered bits of wood.
“Upstairs!” Sam shouted.
The entire group bolted with Troy leading the pack. Mike knew the guy was fast but he’d never seen the cameraman haul ass at lightspeed. Sam managed to find a room on the second floor whose door was just as thick as the front ones.
After securing the room, Dean looked out the windows and said, “Well, shit.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“This room faces the maze,” Dean answered.
“That might actually be good news,” Sam said.
“How?” Mike wheezed out after taking few gulps of air.
“Because if we make it through the maze, we should be okay,” Sam replied, looking thoughtfully at the vista.
“That actually makes sense,” Dean agreed. “It’s not going to be easy but if the lore’s right then you guys should be safe.”
“Why can’t we just take the van?” Mike didn't mean to sound whiny but he couldn't help himself.
“It has your scent,” Sam said. “None of you will make it to the road.”
“So we kill the damn thing and then we’re free?” Mike asked.
“There’s nothing Abernathy or his people can do if the jackalope’s dead,” Dean said.
It was then Mike realized they were all whispering. The second fact was the eerie silence. Dean seemed to notice the same thing.
“We have to get out now,” Dean said. “It’s in the house.”
Sam opened the French windows and looked down. “The truck should break the fall.”
Mike looked down. “Are you serious?”
Sam nodded. “Now.”
To Mike’s surprise it was Dave, the stoutest of the entire group, who took the first leap. He landed with the level of grace usually reserved for drunks; fortunately, he made little noise. Dean followed with Rhea then Will. Troy was posed to jump when the door flew open, turning into a sled for the jackalope as she stumbled then fell on top of it. She slid forward then came to a violent stop by slamming her claws into the floor.
By the time Sam got off a shot Troy was freewheeling into open air quickly followed by Doug. Mike gamely threw his spear but completely missed. He cried out, “Fuck!” before jumping out the window. He heard Sam fire off his shotgun as he hit the hood of the Ford and thought for a moment that the car was as sturdy as advertised, and that he should be happy that he was the company's spokesperson.
Sam barely missed him as he hit the edge of the roof before being dumped on the hood.
“That oughta hurt,” Mike said.
“Now I remember you,” Sam said, his eyes widening. “Your show is both exploitative and narcissistic.”
“Everyone’s a critic.”
Sam skittered off the roof and yanked Mike off the car. They hotfooted to the maze, catching up with the rest of the group. Mike didn’t even bother to turn around when he heard a rupture of metal and glass. He figured the jackalope followed their path and the Ford was now scrap metal, and maybe a topic for future episode.
In spite of it being completely night, Mike was able to see clearly because of the moon. He looked up and saw what was commonly called ‘blood-red moon’. Putting aside the unsettling coloration, he also saw a grinning skull leering down at him.
“Oh, this is so fucked,” he said while trying to keep up with the people ahead of him.
At least I’m not forced to give narration, Mike thought as he kept up with Sam. Cause that would consist of one long ssssshhhhhiiiiittttt and probably would piss of the suits and scare the viewers.
The idle thought almost caused Mike’s death as he didn’t watch where he was going. He stumbled over loose gravel and nearly went sprawling. Instead of feeling the stones tear off his face he felt one strong hand grabbed the back of his jacket and yank him back up.
Mike looked up but was shushed by Sam. He paused and listened to the preternatural silence. There was nothing chirping or singing: not even the slight movements of nocturnal animals scavenging for food.
Fucking great: even the goddamn critters knew better than to stay around tonight.
Sam led him to a bend in the maze where the rest of the group was tightly huddled. Dean made hand motions that were a puzzle to Mike but were completely transparent to Sam. His reply was a nod before going forward, amazingly silent in spite of his size.
Dean made a motion for everyone to get up and slowly move forward. Sam was waiting for them around the corner, twenty feet ahead. For some reason his posture reminded Mike of the girl in the ginger ale ad that ran on television so long ago. Sam gave a signal and Dean started to move faster so the group had to break into a trot in order to keep up.
Sam pointed something on the ground, and thanks to the full moon, Mike could see what it was: a small pouch made out of leather. What was shocking was its content spilled all over the place: human teeth.
Those things are like serial killers, Mike concluded. They kept trophies of their kills.
Mike heard a gagging noise and turned to see Doug about to hurl. Usually, he’d crack a joke or make a smartass remark, but he was too fearful right now to say anything. Dean grabbed Doug by his shoulder and gently shook him. Thankfully, it was enough for Doug not to start upchucking right then and there.
Mike watched Dean as he looked up for no reason. However, Sam seemed alarmed enough and took out what looked like a carving knife designed by Freddy Krueger.
The crashing noise was enough to startle anyone, but what made it was enough to drive people to enroll in the three-year plan with their health care’s preferred psychiatrist.
Now that Mike was close enough to the jackalope to smell its rancid breath and get sprayed by its foamy, absinthe-colored spittle, he saw that the thing had no real hands. He’d assumed the large claws at the end of its arms were attached to something. Now he’d realized that the arms ended in stumps with the claws sprouting out like some demented branches.
One of them made a swipe at him. Mike stumbled backward, felt it cross where his head had been only moments before. He also felt a shotgun blast travel by his left shoulder and heard Dean scream:
“Eat that, you ugly mother!”
With those sentiments still echoing in the air, Dean hustled the group with Sam leading the way.
“You know where you’re going?!” Dean shouted.
“Yeah!” Sam answered. “I memorized the map!”
Oh please God, let that map be good. I’ve followed so many wrong directions because the mapmaker was drunk and stoned and listening to country music because his girlfriend preferred to screw his father than him. Mike wondered if that prayer was de facto no-go and realized he didn’t really care.
Will nearly collided with Sam when he came to a sudden stop but managed to step sideways, narrowly avoiding him. Dean looked around and gave a nod to their point man who looked relieved by the motion. Whatever these two may be, they were more than competent to shepherd people through a maze designed by Lovecraft’s bastard child with Poe.
Sam began to hurry his pace, and everyone did the same. They all felt sure that the end was just around a corner, maybe two. Mike wondered what they would do afterwards. And how they would explain the destruction of a rental not to mention over one hundred thousands dollars worth of missing camera equipment.
Mike wasn’t too surprised to find he didn’t care much. Discovery Channel could fucking sue him when this mess ended. As long as he and his crew got out safe, he’ll be happy to hawk whatever Ford Company wanted him to in order to pay the bill. In fact, he’ll be more than willing to work for QVC again if that’s what it took. He looked up and felt dismay sink whatever happy thoughts he had. The moon was still redder than sin and resembled a syphilitic whore at her deathbed. He wondered if it looked like that with everyone or he was just that lucky.
Sam paused once more and the entire group froze, including Dave who was in mid-step. With one foot dangling in the air, he would’ve looked comical save for the fear so very evident on his face.
It was the poisonous scent that alerted Mike to the jackalope’s presence. One of its claws ripped through the hedges right in front of Rhea’s head. Sam leapt towards her and slashed at the claw with the knife Mike had noticed earlier.
The result was immediate if also bloody. Ropes of viscous blood jettisoned onto Sam’s head and Rhea who screamed “Jesus!” before retching violently. That movement saved her as the other claw suddenly ripped through the hedges and swung right where her throat would’ve been.
Sam cut off that claw too, looking like an escapee from a Saw movie.
In spite of being covered by gore and blood, Sam picked up the severed claws, tossed one to Dean, and hustled the group forward. Mike followed, not daring to look at Rhea’s face lit up by that cursed moon. Will, who took her place behind Sam, let out a sigh of relief when he spotted something around a corner.
That was enough for Mike to hope again.
The elation was further bolstered by Rhea’s sudden dash. Doug, who was in front of Mike, turned left and disappeared. Mike followed and nearly stumbled when he was suddenly thrown open to a field left to seed. He heard Dean give a small whoop of triumph, but any rejoicing was cut short by the severely injured monster crashing through the hedge wall to Mike’s left. Its single eye was now bloodshot and somehow projected twice the insanity that it did before.
“Oh, fuck!” Dave cried out and tripped backwards, landing flat on his back.
“Hey, ugly!” Dean shouted. “Forgot something?” He tossed a claw into the air then caught it with casual ease.
That single gesture was enough to get the creature’s complete attention and its unchecked rage. Dean ducked quickly but couldn’t completely escape the creature’s attack. It slammed into his left shoulder, sending him spinning before falling face first into the grass. The claw fell out of his grasp and tumbled right in front of Mike’s feet.
Somewhere and Mike had no idea where, Doug got his hand on a large pumpkin. He hurled it at the jackalope and managed to knock its right antler off its ugly bony head. Feeding off his producer’s anger, Mike picked up the claw and plunged it into the creature’s right arm.
The response was immediate: it fell to its knees with a protesting whine which made Mike feel angrier. He decided that the claw needed to go in deeper so he stomped it in.
This is for making me row in a pond of shit! Mike stomped harder. And this? This is for not letting me say CRAP on TELEVISION! I’m almost fifty-years-old, I should be able to say crap. Hell, I should be able to scream shit when I am waist deep in SHIT!
Mike was about to nail the claw harder when Sam shoved him aside to deliver the killing blow onto its head. After watching the monster fall flat on her face, Mike turned around, breathing laboriously and caught everyone’s stunned looks, including Dean who said:
“You’re awesome!”
Mike gave a weak smile and bent forward, sucking in as much air as possible. His knees gave out so he decided that, really, his life would vastly improve if he just laid on the ground for a while.
Of course, the moment he did, the moon came to view. However, its murderous color slowly bled out until it was pristine white again.
I am too old for this. Really. Oh man, can’t feel my kidneys. Or my thighs.
Mike heard crunching of dead leaves and looked to his right. He saw a pair of motorcycle boots stop about a foot from his head. Then Dean leaned into view and offered a hand.
“You cool?” Dean asked softly as he pulled him up.
“No, not really,” Mike answered honestly. “And don’t tell me I will be because that’s just shit.”
“Know better than to lie to you,” Dean said. “Look, you’re going to have nightmares but you’re also going to realize that life goes on. Bills need to be paid, Christmas presents have to be bought and mailed, and you’re going to have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the Super Bowl.”
Mike wasn’t at all surprised to hear Dave burst out laughing. However, he was taken back when his throaty laughter joined his friend’s.
“You folks have to get out of here,” Sam said. “When the people responsible for all this finds the pair dead, they're going to be very upset.”
“You guys got any wheels?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, we came in two cars. We can fit in the van,” Rhea answered, searching her pockets for the car keys. She was positively anal about being the one to drive and refused to let anyone, Mike included, to take the wheels. Not that he was complaining. Somewhere between the screaming and running and praying to whatever deity was open for business Mike’s backpockets were ripped off.
Mike was aggravated just enough to consider kicking the jackalope’s carcass again. Dave must have seen the intent on his face and shook his head, making a slight motion towards their rescuers who were checking their weapons, looking even scarier than they already did.
Both men must felt their gazes because they looked up at the same time.
“Questions?” Dean asked.
“Why did you come here?” Mike asked. "And don't say because some handy-dandy map fell on your lap."
“It’s our job to hunt down monsters,” Sam answered after a careful pause.
“And sorry to say it’s not a ride you guys can come along,” Dean added, “though it’d be great to have you guys film what we do.”
Mike saw Troy's lip twitch. “Yeah, thanks for the offer but we’ll pass. So, what’s next?”
“Another town, another monster,” Dean answered. “The job security can’t be beat unless you die, of course.”
“That’s kinda sad,” Doug said.
“Not really,” Dean said, loading a clip into his desert eagle. “It’s got some perks.”
“What’s the biggest downside?” Mike asked, suddenly curious about the men in front of him.
“Hunts that require special tools,” Sam replied.
Both Mike and Will turned to look at the jacaklope’s carcass whose claws were driven into its body.
“This one was an easy hunt compared to some others,” Sam added. “We knew how to kill this thing…”
“About that,” Doug asked. “Where the hell do you get your info? Clive Barker was having a garage sale?”
“Nope,” Dean said and pointed to Sam. “My brother here is a clearinghouse for every freaky information known to man, and other beings.”
“Brother?” Rhea asked, looking at both of them. “Really? I thought…”
“Cool,” Mike interrupted before Rhea pissed off the big men armed with enough guns to worry the NRA. “So, this hunt was easy?”
“Relatively,” Sam admitted. “We try to get any civilians out of danger before we start. We had no idea you guys would be here.”
“We were in Derry earlier to check out the locals but found nothing. So, we decided come out and stumbled over Doug,” Dean said. “Good thing we did, too.”
Doug nodded fervently. “I thought I was a dead man for sure.”
“I think you should get going,” Sam urged everyone. “We really shouldn’t be sticking around like this.”
“Won't argue with that,” Mike said. He reached out and took Dean’s hand. “Thanks for everything.” He shook Sam’s too. “Good luck.”
“Get out of town fast. Don’t stop at the B&B. Get out of Maine. In fact, drive right through Massachusetts," Dean advised seriously.
“We’re thinking New York,” Will said.
“That should be far enough,” Sam said. “Don’t use your cell until you’re out of Derry. Just in case.”
“Sounds like good advice,” Mike said. “What are you going to do?”
“Hunt down their nest and see if there are any eggs," Dean replied breezily.
The entire crew froze as they contemplated what a nest of jackalope eggs looked like.
“Okay, we’re going now,” Doug said hurriedly. “Take care of yourselves”
“Oh, hey, before you go, could I get your autographs?” Dean asked, pulling out a tattered notepad. “All you guys?”
Mike felt like the world's biggest dickwad when he wrote,
Best of luck and thanks for everything!
Sincerely,
Mike
And from the looks of everyone else in his crew, they were laboring under the same emotion as they signed Dean’s notepad. They remained quiet in their shame as Rhea drove them out of Derry, an outpost of Hell.
Hilton, Montana
“I’m Mike Rowe, and this is my job.
“Today, we are going to meet people who have one-hundred percent job security for reasons you don’t even want to imagine. Let’s say you spot an animal that behaves like it’s got rabies. What do you do? Well, you make a call to Animal Control for the County of...”
The End
Author's Notes:
I love Dirty Jobs. It's one of my favorite television shows, but I'm not above shamelessly using them in a RPF when the need calls for it. I'm pretty sure jackalopes aren't as bloodthirsty as my stories made them out to be, but then who knows? Maybe they are carnivorous eight-footers with a single eye and claws instead of hands, especially in the world of Supernatural, which is a damn good reason to love the show.
So, hope you folks enjoyed the story and have a safe and great Halloween for those of us who celebrate the thirty-first!
Addendum: I was in such a hurry to post that I forgot to add the fact that 'Derry, Maine' is Stephen King's creation. It's the birthplace of his greatest villain (IMHO), Pennywise from It. I firmly believe Derry is not only the reason King writes what he does, but also where he writes when he's pumping out his horror novels.